


Fire and Earth

by Winklepicker



Category: About Time (2013 Curtis), BadCut, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), This Is Where I Leave You (2014)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst, But will in fact have a Hux and Kylo appearance, Crack, Fluff, Kylux - Freeform, M/M, Mild Blood, Multi, Not really Star Wars unless you squint a bit and see Hux and Kylo, Romance, Smut, Vague allusion to Bernard from Boy Eats Girl, Vague allusion to Trampis from Studs, a little bit of each, at some point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9636032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winklepicker/pseuds/Winklepicker
Summary: Gareth from Your Bad Self, Papercut sketch meets Phillip Altman from This Is Where I Leave You.Gareth can travel in time and space. Sort of. Sometimes. But only if someone other than himself makes him come.Yes, you've read all those words correctly.





	1. The Bad Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> How on earth did this come about? Well, that is a long story and one that can be told in increments later on as the chapters unfold. That's fancy talk for, I don't want to type anymore.  
> Suffice to say for now, when I thought writing a fic about Domhnall Gleeson's character Gareth in [this sketch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-8pmEHUaLMg) I needed a partner for him. And while bouncing about ideas, [Atlin Merrick](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/pseuds/AtlinMerrick) gently nudged Adam Driver's character Phillip Altman into my line of sight. Because reasons.
> 
> For Atlin Merrick, [221b_Hound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221b_hound/pseuds/221b_hound) and Allmannerofsomethings

Once _upon a time there was a man called Gareth. He had hair the colour of sunset and eyes as green as emeralds and skin as pale as milk and lips as sweet as honey._

“Could you let me tell this, please.” Gareth batted Phillip’s hands away from the keyboard.

“I’m helping.”

“This isn’t a fairy tale.”

“Sure it is. I’m the handsome prince from a far away land. You’re my pretty princess… with the iciest glare in all the land. A glare that could freeze the balls off a…?”

“A?”

“I don’t know, something with big ass balls. Write that down, that’s good.” Phillip pressed his chest to Gareth’s back and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“It’s not a fairy tale. And if it was, which it isn’t, you would be the princess.”

“Fine. Go ahead. Tell it the boring way.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

On a rather dull day, in a rather dull office building something rather un-dull was about to unfold.

Not that any of the participants were aware at the time. People rarely are until what is to unfold has unfolded and there is time to reflect and contemplate the unfolded thing.

On this dull day a man called Gareth’s life was about to be tossed into the topsiest turvy that ever topsed. Ever.

You see, Gareth was a man with a secret. Now here’s the thing about people with secrets—they don’t like people getting too close. And so it was with Gareth, ever since he discovered _the thing_. The thing that happened every time he had an orgasm brought about by another person. Of course he had to confirm _the thing_  a second time, and then reconfirmed _the thing_  just to be thorough. Ever since, Gareth had avoided all activities that lead to sweaty skin shenanigans and sticky fun-times.

So when Gareth’s fancy was taken by someone who set his sweet heart (or his pretty cock) a-fluttering, he put himself on amber alert. And if the object of his fluttery feelings happened to exhibit fluttery signs back, well—that was red alert territory right there. Gareth was a man with remarkable willpower but he was no saint.

The word around the office that morning was that a new guy was starting today. Ever curious, Gareth had made himself a chocolate milk and was loitering about the doorway of the kitchenette. He was peeking out from behind the jamb when a whisper from behind startled a squeak from him.

“Is that the new guy?”

Gareth whipped around, splashing milk over his cuff. “Jesus, O’Brian. You scared the living pants off me.” He shook the dripping milk off his hand. “What new guy?”

“That new guy. The huge American fella over there, being subjected to your ogling and Maloney’s incessant drivel.”

“I’m not ogling. You can’t ogle something you can’t see.” He scowled at O’Brian then turned back to squint down the corridor. “He’s American?” Gareth chewed on his thumb. All he could see above the rows of cubicle partitions was a suspiciously familiar mop of dark hair. It couldn’t be _him_ but then, he had sounded American-ish… it might just be.

“So are you blushing because I scared you or are you blushing because you fancy the new guy?”

“I don’t fancy the new guy,” Gareth snapped, turning to glare at O’Brian.

“Right, of course you don’t.” O’Brian clapped him on the shoulder and left him to it. Gareth winced and rubbed at the spot, certain there’d be a bruise there come morning.

He whipped his head back to find the mysterious mop of hair had disappeared. Gareth blew a small _harrumph_ through an even smaller pout before turning back to his desk, and ran straight into a wall of chest.

Solid chest, wide chest, new guy chest.

“And this is Gareth,” Maloney said. “You’ll be shadowing him tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll keep you busy.”

Gareth’s eyes crawled their way up that wall of chest, found a pale neck sprinkled with moles, a darkly haired chin, a wide generous mouth, up up up to a grand nose, dark warm eyes that twinkled with something he couldn’t quite grasp and… _fuck fuckety fuck-fuck_. It _was_ him.

The man licked his lips, and ran his eyes down and up to settle with mischievous intent on Gareth’s. “I’m sure he will,” he smirked. “Hello. Again.” 

Gareth tried not to panic.

Now was not the time to muse over the way he could still feel where they had slammed into each other, the way the man’s voice was quiet and resonant at the same time. Mostly it was not the time to think on the fizzing feeling deep in his gut at the way he was being looked at—like he was a three course meal about to be devoured.

This was a red alert situation. A red alert.

Gareth panicked.

“What? No. What?” Gareth’s eyes were wide as he shook his head with a dramatic swish of his long red hair.

Maloney looked at the new guy in horror. “This is…” he grimaced.

“Phillip. Altman.” Phillip stuck his hand out, his brown eyes twinkling far too much for Gareth’s comfort. Gareth stared at him open mouthed then turned to Maloney.

“Actually, I’m really busy the next few days.”

Maloney gave a loud snort. “With what?” With that he ushered Phillip away, though not before Phillip gave Gareth a wink and a grin.

 

* * *

 

Once upon a time, in the long long ago, about three weeks back, Gareth had gone to the pub. And while that was par for the course for most men of Gareth’s age, Gareth was not one to venture out into society on his own too often. Especially not in a city far from family and friends.

But on this night three weeks ago, Gareth refused to stay in his flat a minute longer. The noise thumping from the flat above had been going for seven hours now, with raucous laughter and shouts punctuating any break in the music. After the smallest of tantrums and a determined kick to his sofa he grabbed his coat, his keys, and slammed the door behind him.

The high street was quiet, the road wet and sparkling with a thousand little streetlight reflections. The rain lazed its way down, not quite a drizzle, not quite a shower. The tiny pub on the corner, however, was alive. A handful of brave souls wreathed the entrance with their smoke as they huddled beneath the green awning.

Gareth chose the only stool left at the bar, behind the menu stacks and the spare bottles of tap water for the tables. From his corner he sat and sipped on a beer he didn’t want, watching everyone else laugh and chatter.

He swiveled on his stool, hiding behind his glass, and sighed. Everyone looked so damn happy. Wasn’t there supposed to be some dolorous piano music? Wasn’t the barkeeper supposed to ask him why the long face?

A sudden squeal had everyone’s heads turning to see a long-haired brunette laughing hysterically as she was carried out over the shoulder of a tall dark-haired man who looked like he could bench press an elephant, with arms double the circumference of Gareth’s. The guy was like a sasquatch. And he was laughing too, they looked so happy.

The rest of the patrons went back to their own conversations and Gareth sipped his beer mulling over the pang he was feeling for things he told himself he couldn’t have.

Two days later, Gareth ventured out to find himself something for dinner that did not involve playing with sharp objects or hot surfaces. He was standing on the pavement, his hand splayed on the door of the chipper when he saw him. The sasquatch guy from the pub, though this time without a woman hoisted over his shoulder, walking straight towards him.

Gareth would later be thankful that the man was too busy on his phone to notice him staring at the way his t-shirt stretched across his wide chest or the way Gareth’s eyes had drifted down, down. The man, still engrossed in his phone, ambled past and Gareth turned to watch, allowing himself a moment to contemplate his arse.

The door pulled away from Gareth’s hand and he was pushed to the side. “Watch where you're standing there,” said a gruff voice.

Gareth gave a small grunt, and with his eyes still fixed on Sasquatch and no clear reason he would admit to himself, he followed behind finding himself back at the pub.

It was emptier this evening but Gareth still perched himself on the end-most stool, safe in his little corner. Sasquatch sat at the bar as well, talking animatedly with the bartender, a mop of dark hair on his head and a smaller mop on his chin.

After being ignored for ten minutes, Gareth managed to catch the bartender’s eye and ordered a beer, wondering at what point he’d admit to himself that he didn’t like the stuff.

As the bartender worked, Gareth watched Sasquatch, who was watching the bartender’s movements as he pulled the beer at the tap, slipped a paper coaster under it and placed it on the bar in front of Gareth. It took Gareth a few seconds to realise the man was now staring back at him. And it was only when he smiled and raised an eyebrow that Gareth shook himself and looked down.

He grabbed his glass with both hands, took a panicked gulp, spluttered with his nose in the glass and then inhaled the foam. Gareth sneezed. He slammed the glass down so hard that half the beer flew up into his face. He sneezed again, sending the rest of his drink everywhere.

Once he’d blinked the beer from his eyes he saw with horror Sasquatch giggling at him. The tall man half stood to lean over the bar for napkins before a hand settled on his arm. It was the woman from the night before.

Gareth remained long enough to see Sasquatch frown with surprise at the woman and then flicker a look of regret toward Gareth. Though Gareth supposed that was wishful thinking on his part, it was probably a sneer. The only thing he was certain of was that his face must be fighting a losing battle not to clash with the red of his hair.

He trickled off his stool and weaved around tables to the exit, rubbing his sleeve over his dripping face as he went.

 

* * *

 

Over the next few days Gareth’s routine consisted of work-home-work. Which was fine. He could bury himself in routine instead of spending every spare moment being mortified all over again.

He certainly would not be going back to the pub. No great loss he thought. God knows why he’d followed that man in the first place. On that thought, Gareth tried to ignore the cold-hot-cold prickling at his temples, the rumbling in his belly, the deep low shiver around the vicinity of his groin that told him exactly why.

It was only a week later that he did find himself back at that benighted pub. Creaky Joe had offered to buy everyone a round for his birthday. No one had said yes though, to be fair, Creaky Joe was an utterly awful person. Even so, Gareth could not let anyone, even a jackass like Joe, drink alone on their birthday. And that is just about all one needs to know about the capacity of Gareth’s heart.

Gareth stared about the pub tapping a tattoo on the table. Sasquatch was nowhere to be seen but he remained tense, remembering his embarrassment. Creaky Joe still insisted that he’d buy all the rounds, despite Gareth's protests that that was not the way birthday drinks should go. Never mind that Gareth would rather have one drink and get the hell out before he managed to pour one down his pants or set his hair on fire.

By the fourth round, Gareth had four times as much as he’d wanted and far more than his bladder could hold. He stumbled past a rambunctious Joe, who had abandoned him to harass the people at the pool table, and toward the loos.

He checked himself in the mirror. He really ought not to do that when he’d been drinking, he had enough of a checklist of flaws to go through when he was sober. When he was drunk it involved a lot more angry mumbling and pointing at himself.

He was busy deciding whether to make a sneaky escape or to say goodbye to Joe first when he opened the door and almost crashed into a man coming in.

A small dance ensued before Gareth mumbled _sorry_  toward his shoes.

"No. My bad," came a voice that was all sorts of soft and dark and sweet and every flavour in between.

Gareth’s head snapped up, a movement his neck immediately regretted. It was _him_.

Like dancers they spun slowly together in a half circle, their eyes locked—Gareth creaking out a series of ums and ahs and Sasquatch twinkling happily.

Had Gareth not shouted a panicked, "I’ve got to go," and fled, he may have heard the man say, only a breath too late, "Can I buy you a drink?" And then seen him pout, confused, as he watched Gareth slip away.

 

* * *

 

And that was the last Gareth saw of Sasquatch. Until now. And now Sasquatch had a name.

So they were colleagues. Well, that was just fine. Gareth had no interest in Phillip, with his dark lustrous hair and his strangely endearing sticky-out ears and and… well shit.

Gareth chewed on his thumb and made a study of the man. He was tall, though he stooped while Maloney spoke. His chest seemed unreasonably wide. In fact all his proportions sent Gareth into a state of frustrated confusion—and yes, perhaps in the very back of Gareth’s mind something whispered, oh so quietly, that it would be terribly helpful indeed if only he could see Phillip naked.

The day passed painfully slow. Maloney’s desk was within sight of Gareth’s and thus so was Phillip. He was sitting with a look of polite interest on his face as Maloney went through whatever dull thing Maloney was excited about that day. His studious face, however, belied his fidgeting. Gareth wondered if Phillip had ever worn a suit before. He kept shrugging his shoulders, as though he might shift the material, and had his unreasonably long fingers stuck inside his cuffs, pulling and stretching and rubbing. 

Gareth shifted in his chair. He cleared his throat and returned his eyes to his screen determined to concentrate on his report. That is until the next time his eyes drew up to stare at Phillip’s profile.

Gareth wasn’t sure how long each staring session lasted before he caught himself, his lips pressed thin, breaths coming fast through his nose. 

He was wholly uninterested in why his chest felt tighter every time the wrinkles and dimples of a smile cracked over Phillip’s face, or when he tucked his hair behind his ear, or when he leaned back and drew his palms up and down his thighs. No. Gareth refused. He refused so much and so hard that he shot up from his chair and knocked it to the floor. He looked around sheepishly as he picked it up before scurrying to the toilet.

Gareth stared at his tired face in the mirror, trying to convince himself that he needn’t worry about any advances from Phillip—too thin, too pale, too ginger. He didn't want to face the inevitable questions that would come about when they, _if_  they...

Some may call it denial but it was better this way. When the inevitable rejection came—and it would come—he’d be stuck working with someone he could never look in the eye again. No, thank you. Gareth pouted at his reflection before steeling himself to go back out.

He made his way back to his desk and sat down with a sigh. Without his permission his eyes flickered up to find Phillip staring right back. A tiny whimper whimped out of Gareth's throat and he quickly looked away. Keeping his eyes firmly down, he lay his hands on his keyboard and swore not to look up again for the rest of the day. He subsequently had to swear the same thing thirty-seven more times.

At five minutes to five, the home time hum began. Gareth looked up to see Phillip and Maloney gathering coats and bags along with the rest of the office.

"Coming for a pint, Fitzy?" Maloney called as most of the staff gathered to leave together, Phillip eagerly introducing himself to everyone.

Gareth looked on, worrying at his lip. There’d been no email for him, no friendly shout across the office. The revellers filed out leaving only Gareth and Creaky Joe, who was buried behind piles of invoices with his headphones on.

Gareth was gnawing on his knuckles when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Gareth, right?"

Gareth tensed—fist still in his mouth—and swivelled in his chair.

"We're going out for drinks. You wanna come?" Phillip loomed over him in the friendliest way anyone could loom.

Gareth blinked twice in quick succession then once more for luck. He dropped his fist and wiped away a spot of drool with his sleeve.

"It’s cool if you're busy. 

Some kind of garbled gurgle emerged from Gareth's throat as he nodded wide-eyed. 

Phillip slid his hands into his pockets and nodded with him, smiling with his eyes.

This strange and awkward ritual lasted a good ten seconds before –

"I’m sorry, I can't tell if that’s a ‘yes, you're busy’ or ‘yes, you want to come’."

Another gurgle came from Gareth. He cleared his throat. "I wasn't invited."

"I just invited you."

"Yeah, but Maloney organized it."

"For me. As a welcome."

"Pretty sure no one wants me there."

Phillip’s eyes flashed a brief tinge of anger. "Fuck them. _I_ want you there."

"You don't even know me."

"And what better way to rectify that than with a few quiet drinks at a bar?" Phillip spread his arms wide.

"I… I don't…"

"Okay, cool. While you're deciding I’ll grab your coat and your bag and we can head out."

"Actually this report is due in a couple of days. I should really..." Without Gareth’s say-so his arm stuck itself out for Phillip to dress it. 

“Uh huh." Phillip pulled Gareth’s coat up to one shoulder.

"I don't really drink." Gareth continued while his other arm, in a blatant act of defiance, shut down his computer then raised itself up for the other coat sleeve.

"I’ll get you a soda." Phillip drew up the other sleeve then slung the bag over Gareth's shoulder.

Gareth glanced down at himself and sighed.

"Okay, I suppose I could, for a bit."

"Awesome!" Phillip bellowed and clapped Gareth on the back.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Phillip forgets how much force a man of his size can exert. This was one of those times. But in light of their comparable heights and Gareth’s oversized, ill-fitting clothes, Phillip could be forgiven for his miscalculation.

Gareth stumbled forward, his arms waving wildly. His bag swung around his neck, pulled him off balance and he fell, the butt of his chin collecting the arm of his chair along the way.

"Holy shit! Are you alright?" Phillip jerked forward.

Gareth groaned and raised himself on hands and knees.

"I’m fine, it’s fine, I just… argh fuck!" As he lifted his head, a stream of blood suddenly gushed from Gareth nose.

In what seemed a whirlwind, Gareth found himself seated on his backside, back against the desk, held there by Phillip’s enormous hand splayed across his chest. He felt Phillip’s other hand gently caress the back of his head and tilt it forward.

“Pinch your nose.”

Gareth stared at him in a daze. Phillip drew his hand away from Gareth’s head and guided him to pinch his own nose. And if along the way Phillip’s thumb had traced down the line of Gareth’s jaw, then what of it? Only that Gareth chose to believe he had imagined it.

"Stay there like that. I’ll find a towel." Phillip gave him a pat to the shoulder before running to the kitchenette

A small sob welled up from Gareth’s chest. Here he was again, covered in blood, his free hand flapping in helpless despair.

The floor trembled as Phillip bounded back to his side with a damp towel and an ice pack. A warm hand returned to push his slumped form back against the desk.

"Hey, hey, don't cry." Long fingers slipped through his hair and back to tilt his head again.

Gareth couldn't remember the last time anyone had bothered to say a kind word to him let alone take care of him. He redoubled his sobbing and babbled out some noises that in his head were something along the lines of,  _Thank you, I'm fine, you should go,_ but to Phillip’s ears were a series of squeaks.

"No seriously, man, crying makes the bleeding worse. And keep pinching tight." Phillip squeezed Gareth’s fingers over his nose again.

Gareth continued to sob.

"It's like a sinus thing. Tears, fluids. I don't know, I didn't pay that much attention."

Some more squeaking burbles came from Gareth, which in his head meant to say, _You really don't have to stay. I'll be fine,_  while also in his head but very much forbidden to reach his mouth were the words, _Please god stop stroking the back of my head it’s making my chest hurt in a way I've tried to avoid half my life but please don’t stop and you definitely definitely don't want anything to do with me, trust me_.

"So, you wanna hear something funny?" Phillip’s eyes twinkled.

Gareth's mind replied, _Ah, shit_ , his mouth replied a pitiful choked out, mhmm.

"So, my dad died three months ago. That’s not the funny part.” Phillip added quickly. “We were at a prayer memorial for him. My brothers, my sister, mom. Anyway, my brother Judd is wearing one of dad’s old jackets and he finds a couple of joints in the pocket. So we sneak off to this little room and have our own memorial. We got so high we didn't even notice how much smoke there was until the fire alarm went off.”

Gareth’s sobs had petered off and he blinked away the last of his tears as he gazed at Phillip’s full lips from beneath his lashes. His mind said, _Shitting arsecakes_.

"Dad was an atheist. It was kinda fitting, I guess, getting high in Temple, flooding a classroom and getting everyone evacuated." A small frown appeared on Phillip’s face. He tongued his bottom lip as he brought his thumb up to swipe along Gareth’s.

Gareth's mind said, _Fuck fuckety fuck-fuck-fuck_.

"You bit your lip too," Phillip said, his voice low. He gave a sympathetic wince.

They sat like that a while, one with the stare of the perpetually worried, the other looking hungry, a little sad, and on the verge of smiling.

"What's going on? Thought we'd lost you." Maloney's voice rang across the office.

"It's fine, just a little accident. You guys get started without me." Phillip kept his eyes on Gareth. 

Maloney craned his head. "Averill, for fuck’s sake. He loses a pint of blood nearly once a week, he'll be fine. Let's go!"

"I’m fine. Go." Gareth’s tear-hoarse voice barely rose above a whisper.

Phillip gently pulled Gareth’s hand from his nose, readying the towel in case. "Looks like it stopped."

"See? Fine." Gareth scrambled to his feet, noticing Phillip’s arms were ready to catch him if he wavered—he whimpered quietly at the thought of being caught in Phillip’s embrace. It was all Gareth could do to stop his rebellious legs from making that thought a reality.

Phillip searched Gareth's face. "I’m really sorry, this was totally my fault."

"No, really, it's fine. I wasn't expecting… I mean you just surprised me. I mean…" _Stop babbling stop babbling stop babbling_. Gareth snapped his mouth shut and looked anywhere but at Phillip. He must be flushing the same colour as the bloody stain on his white shirt.

"I'm guessing a bar is the last place you want to be right now."

"I think I'll head home if it’s all the same," Gareth said in a hushed voice.

“That’s fair.” Phillip nodded.

“Okay.” There was awkward silence for a beat too long. Gareth’s eyes shifted side to side. “Bye then.” He blurted and scurried off veering away from Maloney to take the stairs.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Gareth arrived at work a determined man. Today Phillip would be under Gareth’s supervision.

He would be strong. He would be professional. And above all, he would look at Phillip with nothing but cool detachment from the merrymaking his hormones seemed determined to instigate.

And then Phillip arrived.

“Morning. How’s your nose?”

Gareth jumped in his seat. “You’re late.”

“I’m not late, I’ve been thinking about things.”

“That’s… what? It’s half nine.”

“That’s still morning. Pretty good right? Plus, I got you coffee.” Phillip sang the word coffee and waved the cup at Gareth. 

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“You were drinking coffee yesterday.”

“I… it wasn’t. It wasn’t coffee,” Gareth mumbled.

Phillip pouted at the extra cup. “Okay, my bad. I’ll get you a milky tea next time. What are you, one of those milk with a dash of tea people?” 

Gareth sighed. “It was milk, okay. Chocolate milk.”

“Chocolate milk?” Phillip’s face broke into a wide smile. Everything that could crinkle in childlike delight, did.

“That’s right, chocolate milk.” Gareth could feel his emotional dam creaking at the hinges. “What? So what? Can’t a man—a grown man—drink a nice refreshing glass of chocolate milk every now and then? Is this the world we live in? Is this what we’ve come to?”

Phillip looked like he was holding in laughter, or trying not to cry. Or both. It was difficult to tell while his expression kept shifting. He did neither but shook his head and in the most tender of whispers said, “Oh my god.” His face dimpled. “You’re like a living breathing Disney character.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” said Gareth. It was true, he didn’t even know what that meant. “Look, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be showing you. I’ve work to do. Very important work-like things. I told Maloney I’ve got a report due tomorrow.” Gareth could feel his muscles tensing with his agitation.

Phillip laughed, his eyebrows tenting in amused disbelief. “Okay. No distracting you from your important work-like things. Got it. If it helps, I’ve got a pile of forms to fill in. I can sit quiet, you won’t even know I’m here.”

There it was again. How did he do it? How was his voice so deep and yet not deep? How did it glide like that, like a warm knife through cream? Why had Gareth’s muscles relaxed? No. No-no. This was a path of thought that would lead nowhere but pain and frustration. 

Gareth nodded at his shoes and mumbled, “Okay, good. Thank you. That’d be helpful.”

“Though if you need any help, maybe I could…”

“There’s really no need, I’m on top of it.” Gareth interrupted.

“I like to keep on top of things too.” Phillip gave Gareth a sly grin. “I also like being underneath things. I’m pretty flexible.”

Gareth wheezed a moment before blurting out, “There’s nothing to keep on top of. Or on the bottom of.”

“Did you know you get a little crinkle, right here,” Phillip touched his fingertip, feather-light, to the bridge of Gareth’s nose, “when you’re angry?”

Gareth took a jagged breath in, his eyes crossed watching Phillip’s finger. “Just fill in the paperwork, please.” He blink-blinked fast and looked back to his screen.

They sat in silence a while. Phillip filling in forms and Gareth wondering why on earth his life had to be so complicated. He didn’t know how long he’d been chewing on his lip looking like a lost child before he was jolted out of it.

“So what’s your story?”

Gareth continued staring ahead at his screen, his fingers on the keyboard. He hadn’t typed a word since they’d sat down.

The side of Phillip’s mouth quirked in a half smile. “No story, huh? Okay. I can tell you mine if you like.” Phillip ducked his head trying to see Gareth’s face.

Gareth’s teeth bit harder into his lip. He started typing, fast.

Phillip frowned as he watched Gareth’s fingers flying nonsensically over the keys. “O-kay,” he said carefully. “I guess I came here to start fresh. I get a lot of ideas, you know, business ideas. But—I don’t know—I talk about things more than I do them and man you have no idea how much my family would have loved to hear me admit that. You know, I grew up in a place called Knob’s End?”

Gareth kept typing. He winced, realizing he should have opened up a document.

“I was seeing someone before I left.” Gareth’s typing faltered for a moment. “But she decided I was too much of a screw up. My mother thinks I'm terrible at relationships, which is partly her fault. That's a long story. Sure, I kind of am but if I met the right person I bet I'd be great at it. You never know where you’ll meet the one. I mean it could be you, right? For all I know.”

Gareth’s typing stopped. He looked up at Phillip’s grinning face. “What?”

“I’m just saying, you could be my one true love.” 

Gareth’s mouth moved through several phases of disbelief before settling on saying, “No.”

“I’m not saying you are, I‘m just saying you could be. Anyone could.” He gestured around the office. “You don’t know until you try. And in that case, just as a random example, it could be you, couldn’t it?”

“I shouldn’t think so.”

“Why the hell not?’

Gareth squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. “Because one, there’s no such thing as 'one true love', and two, even if there was, it’s not me. I’m not anyone’s one true love.” He took a sip of his tea as the best non-verbal ‘so there’ he could think of.

Phillip chuckled through closed lips before he cracked into a bright smile. “You are fantastically bleak for someone so pretty.” 

Gareth snorted, his tea making inroads up his nostrils.

“I don’t… Please stop.” _Pretty? Pretty?! Oh god._ Gareth untucked his hair from his ear, hoping the flaming cascade might hide the blush he could feel blazing across his face.

“Sorry. I’m making you uncomfortable. I’m an asshole. I’m not usually this forward.” Phillip huffed a laugh. “Actually that’s bullshit, I’m always this forward. Listen, I like you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Hence hoping you’d come out last night before the, um… for which I apologise. Profusely. Again. And the whole trying to make conversation thing, which, hey. Kudos to you for some championship levels of avoidance.”

Gareth chewed on his lip. No one in his life, not one person, had ever tried this hard to get to know him. There it was, the resolve was cracking.

"So, how about we get a drink tonight?"

Gareth rubbed at his crinkled nose and gave Phillip a rueful wince. "I don't like to drink all that much."

"Are you kidding? You’re Irish."

"Yes I am. And I'm not."

"You're kidding and you're not Irish?"

Gareth put his head in his hands and groaned. "No, I _am_ Irish and I'm not kidding. I don't like drinking." He felt a large warm hand brush down his arm. Warm fingers lingered lightly at his elbow, his breath stopped halfway up his throat and refused to come out.

"Okay, that was _me_ kidding. Do you eat? Why don't we eat something? Together, I mean. I don't want any confusion. Eating in the same place, at the same time? You and I."

Gareth emerged from the safety of his hands and he exhaled sharply at the look of hope on Phillip’s face.

 _Yes, go on my son. Get in. You are well in there._ Is what the small devil dressed like a football hooligan on Gareth's shoulder was yelling.

The tiny angel on his other shoulder wearing a floral dressing gown and buffing its nails wasn't helping matters by whispering,  _Nice arse. Have you seen the size of his chest? You could set up camp on it._

"I don't think that's a good idea," Gareth squeaked out of his tightened throat. He pushed his chair back, and crawled beneath the desk.

This was more than a red alert. What was more than red? Flashing light alert, with sirens and lots of yelling? He was slipping. With every word Philip spoke to him he could feel his resolve splinter. Gareth curled his knees to his chest and wrapped his head in his arms.

He wanted this, whatever _this_  was.

He didn't want it.

He did.

He felt, more than saw, Phillip get up from his chair and walk away. 

In the end it didn't matter. Phillip would see _the thing_ happen and that would be that. Gareth sighed moist and hot onto his knees. At least he might get a shag out of it, and that could last him another decade or so.

Gareth screwed his eyes shut and tried to head-butt his own lie out of his head, knowing full well he’d never in his life wanted “just a shag”. That wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

He felt a gentle tap on his shoulder and a low murmur. "Hey. I’m not really great at this whole dealing with peoples emotions thing.” There was a pause and a deep in-drawn breath. "But I clearly upset you and that makes me an asshole so, I'm just going to leave this here on your desk." A soft knock came from above him. "I don't know how you like it so I had to guess." Gareth didn't move. "Okay, I'll... I am going to stop bugging you. But I’ll be, I don’t know, somewhere, if you want to talk or tell me to fuck off. That's a valid choice too." Phillip sighed. "Okay, I'm shutting up."

Gareth waited until Phillip's footsteps retreated before raising his head and wiping away the tears he felt cooling on his face.

Here’s the the thing about people: they cannot thrive on fear and hate. Neither can they thrive on indifference. But feed them love and kindness and watch them glow and grow.

So when Gareth, who had been on a partly involuntary diet of indifference for years, got back into his chair to find a mug of chocolate milk almost but not quite the way he liked it, the warm humming bubble that had perched itself on his heart back in the pub three weeks ago grew bigger and brighter. That bubble was primed to burst.

  

* * *

  

He managed to avoid Phillip for the rest of the day, and for half of the next day.

Phillip, who’d finally been assigned a desk of his own, had been true to his word and let him be.

Gareth stayed ducked down behind his tiny partition, nibbling at his knuckles and reading the same sentence in his report over and over again. When his bladder forced his hand and he finally had to leave his desk, he craned his neck first, checking the coast was clear, then legged it to the toilets.

Of course—because this is the way in which the world works—he was mid-stream when Phillip walked in and did a double take.

“Sorry, I’ll…” Phillip turned on his heel towards the door, then back to Gareth, then back to the door. “I’ll come back.”

“No, I’m done,” Gareth blurted. His fingers fumbled with his zip.

Phillip gaped at him. “Are you seriously gonna stop peeing because I’m in here?”

“Yes!” Gareth pulled with frantic jerks at his zip until it finally gave and slid smoothly up. Gareth screamed.

“Holy shit. Are you okay?” Phillip grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Oh god.” Pained tears streamed down Gareth’s face, his hands now struggling to pull the zip down again.

“Do you need a hand?”

“No I don’t need a hand.” Gareth yelped and backed-up out of Phillip’s grasp into a stall.

“Let me see.”

“What? No.” Gareth struggled again with the zip, then with a groan he doubled over in pain. “It’s so sore.”

He breathed himself calm, or it may have been the soothing hand Phillip had rested on his hip. He straightened and redoubled his effort with the zip.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” Phillip’s voice grew serious. “Stop it.” He batted Gareth’s hands away and knelt in front of him. He tugged gently at the zipper and squinted at it up close. 

“I think it's just hair.”

“Okay, thanks. Please get up.” Gareth tried to bat him away but Phillip caught his hands. He squeezed them and looked up into Gareth’s sea-green eyes. He squeezed his hands again and let go.

“I’ll just ease it down slowly. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Does it hurt?” Phillip inched the zip down as slowly as he could.

“Yes,” Gareth whispered.

“Got it.” Phillip exhaled with relief. He looked up through his lashes at Gareth who was staring down at him open-mouthed and breathing fast. His fingers delved into Gareth’s pants and gave him a gentle rub. “Is that where it’s sore?”

Gareth bit his lip and nodded.

Phillip took hold of Gareth’s cock and gave it a swift tight stroke. He felt it filling out, growing harder in his hand. “Is that better?” Phillip grinned.

Gareth nodded again. “Yes,” he whispered.

Phillip stood, his hand still in Gareth’s pants. He smiled warm and wide and stepped in until they were chest to chest.

“Should I just keep rubbing until it’s not sore any more?” Phillip breathed, his lips half an inch from Gareth’s.

Gareth, his voice lost long ago, nodded again and before he could lose his nerve, clasped one hand around Phillip’s neck and one in his hair and surged in to capture Phillip’s mouth with as much finesse as one might imagine from someone who had denied themselves far too long.

Phillip tried to instigate some level of calm but he may as well have tried digging a hole in water. If there was a battle of wills, he had lost. If there was a battle of tongues, he’d been crushed. It didn’t matter, this wasn’t about him. Something told him this strange flame-haired lion of a man needed this more than he did right now.

So Phillip let go and gave him what he needed. His wrist bent painfully as he pumped Gareth faster, and listened out for anyone coming in through the door.

Gareth pulled off from his ploughing of Phillip’s mouth with a sharp little bite to his lower lip.

“Ow, fuck,” Phillip huffed but, ever diligent, did not miss a beat. 

“I should… I should tell you…” Gareth panted, his thin chest heaving

“You’re enthusiastic, I’ll give you that.” Phillip stretched his jaw.

“There’s something I…”

Phillip gave a long tight pull, a bead of pre-come drooling through his knuckles and adding to the slick sounds echoing in the small room. 

“I’m going to…”

Phillip’s fist was flying now, as fast as the angle allowed. “This isn’t how I pictured working in an office environment to be honest.”

“When I… when I come I…”

“If I don’t come in my pants it’s gonna be an awkward walk back to my desk.” Phillip grunted, his wrist seizing. “Unless you think we’ve got time to…" 

“Oh. Oh god…”

Phillip suddenly found himself alone and panting. His hands empty when a second ago they had been holding warm skin and flesh. Empty but for a stripe of come in his palm and on his trousers. 

He stared blankly around him, not quite believing his own senses and whispered, “What the fuck?”

 

 

 

 


	2. A brief and sticky interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gareth has a day off. Phillip does not. This is an issue when Gareth is a little randy in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set waaaaay in the future when madcap adventures are over (but when are madcap adventures really over, I ask you).
> 
> The plan is to alternate a chapter of crazy pants getting together story with shorter chapters of future happy times when Gareth is trying to write down the tale. Right. Got that? Good.

"Tell me." Gareth lay on the bed, legs bent and swinging side to side. 

"Again?” Phillip sat on the edge pulling his knee up to tie his laces. “You know the story. You disappeared, I freaked out in a toilet cubicle."

Gareth reached a long arm towards the back of Phillip’s trousers. He wriggled along on his bottom until he was close enough catch a belt loop and tug. He may as well have tried moving a mountain.

"Again, please. I want to write it down."

Phillip dropped his leg down and twisted around, reaching out to brush Gareth’s hair back from his forehead. 

"I gotta go, Firefly. I’ll tell you when I get back, promise." 

Gareth let out a dismissive huff and turned his head away. He turned back just as quickly and said, “Stay a little bit longer. Please.” 

Gareth stretched in a long slow wave from his curled toes, up his legs, tilting his hips to send the wave up his chest, his neck. He raised his arms over his head and yawned prettily in the barely-open-mouthed way he knew drove Phillip to eye-twitching distraction. It distracted Phillip enough that he was surprised when he felt Gareth’s hand glide up his thigh and plant itself on his crotch, giving a soft squeeze.

“Just,” Gareth gave the tiniest of pouts and fluttered his golden eyelashes, “a little bit longer.” He caught Phillip’s hand and, with a most solemn expression, took an index finger into his mouth and proceeded to suck and slide and curl his lips and tongue over and around it.

Phillip chewed the inside of his lip and stared wide-eyed at the enticing display. 

Gareth began making the smallest of rumbling moans as he delighted in Phillip’s finger. A blink and then a blinkblinkblink and Gareth had taken two fingers in, bobbing his head, slurping back his spit. 

Phillip's mouth had decided open was the best way to let out the breaths that were coming faster and faster. There was a part of his mind that thought it was in his best interest not to be late to an important meeting in the only job he’d ever managed to keep for more than five months. That part was doing its best to convince him to get up and run for the bus. 

Unfortunately for Phillip’s career prospects, that part of his mind was tiny compared to the part that wished it could spend the day wrapped around his darling dear gingernut. That part knew there was nothing more important than watching Gareth suckling on now three of his fingers with his red hair a halo spread out on the bed cover. All his delicacy was gone, his chin shining wet and dripping. 

And when Gareth let the hand not holding Phillip’s slide down his own bare chest and finger-crawl its way past his waistband and into his pants, the part of Phillip’s brain that had been determined to leave forgot what it was that he didn’t want to be late for. And when Gareth started stroking himself, Phillip’s eyes were drawn to the outline of those bony knuckles against thin flannel.

Phillip pulled his own fingers out of Gareth’s mouth and drew them slowly down his chin and neck. He led a wet trail down Gareth’s chest to his navel where his middle finger slipped in and ran lazy circles around the rim.

"And here I thought you were a good influence on me," Phillip said.

"I _am_ a good influence on you." 

Phillip crawled onto the bed and hovered over Gareth on all fours. 

"You think so?" He pressed his hips down and wriggled. 

The back of Gareth’s knuckles felt the hardened length of Phillip’s cock as they brushed up and down between their bodies. 

"I am. I‘m a good boy. Me mam says so." He stuck his tongue out the side of his grinning mouth. "You’re the one who’s a bad influence on me." Gareth pulled his hand out of his pants, looped arms around Phillip’s neck and his legs around his waist and ground his hips up in retaliation. 

Phillip giggled with a broad smile as he dove in to catch the cheeky hint of tongue with his lips. 

Gareth was having none of that. He pulled his tongue back in, opened his mouth and waggled it, like an extremely pliant lure. 

Phillip beamed even wider. He placed a peck on Gareth’s nose, on his cheek. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket while holding up his little lion with one arm and checked the time. "You've got three minutes, Firefly. I’m not the one with a day off.” 

Gareth's face fell into a pout. 

"Three minutes baby, to get one or both of us off." Phillip dropped down to his forearms. "Or,” he slid his body up, “you could wait until I get back," he slid his body down, "and I'll take care of you." He slid his body up again. " _And_ I'll tell you the story again." 

Gareth whined, the glint of competitiveness suddenly alive in his eyes. He wriggled and struggled until Phillip drew back and they both clambered up onto their knees. 

Gareth’s long white fingers unzipped and unbuttoned. They pulled down Phillip’s trousers and pants with firm efficiency and took hold of Phillip’s cock, which by now had become so interested in the proceedings it was gently weeping with happiness.

Gareth shoved his other hand back into his pants and started pumping himself furiously. 

"How long?" He asked.

Phillip licked his lips. "It’s…” He leaned in close and pulled back Gareth’s waistband to peek in at the proceedings, watching as the pink head of his darling’s cock appeared and disappeared into the blur of his delicate fist. 

Phillip was glued to the frantic movements until he tapped his screen alight and quick-flicked his eyes to the time and back. 

Gareth bent over with his mouth open and waited, his eyes on Phillip. 

"A minute fifty-five, baby." 

Gareth gave a determined nod, took him in to the root, choked, and pulled back spluttering. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, then dove back in.

Phillip’s mouth made an effort to reply but couldn’t. He made do with a small shake of his head and stroking his fingers through the fine red fall of Gareth’s hair. His nerves were on fire and in a moment of blissful pride he thought, _he’s actually going to make it._

“Honnn nnnng?”

“Minute ten,” Phillip breathed. His body was loose and swayed back and forth under the force of Gareth’s rhythm alone.

“Mmmnn.” Gareth replied. The hum sending a shiver down and up Phillip’s back. 

“Concentrate, baby. You’re right here. Stay with me, you’re not going anywhere.”

“Mm. Mmmnnnn… mmmnnnnn!” Gareth’s hums grew louder and higher until with a long muffled groan he came. 

His hand dropped, smearing over the covers, and came back up to cup Phillip’s balls. With a wet pop, he pulled his lips off Phillip’s cock, took a few deep breaths, and dove back in like the good boy he said he was.

“Ppmmm?”

“Thirty-two seconds,” Phillip said. “I’m on the edge, Firefly, you got this. Bring it home.”

Gareth wasted no time employing every curl of his tongue, every rippling sliding finger squeeze wherever his mouth couldn’t reach. His other hand massaged and rolled and snuck spare fingers up to tickle and press against Phillip’s hole.

Phillip brushed back Gareth’s hair and held it back to marvel at the stretch of his darling boy’s generous lips. White bubbles of spit and precome gathered at the corners and dribbled down his chin. His face was red, his nose burbled as he puffed air in and out, and his eyes were watering with the effort. He was a glorious beautiful mess.

Phillip resisted the primal urge to thrust his hips. That would be cheating and he knew better than to rob Gareth of his victory. Instead he let the energy out in a steady stream of all the fucks he gave and _would_ give to Gareth once he returned home. 

On a particularly long and breathy outburst of _foursecondsfuuuuuuuuuckiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou_ Phillip’s stomach muscles clenched buckling him over. His hands clenched and tangled in Gareth’s hair as he came with warm spurts down his red-maned love’s pretty little throat.

After gasps became wheezes and wheezes became shallow breaths, Gareth straightened his back, stretched his arms high and brought them down around Phillip’s neck. He pecked tiny kisses on his favourite moles, gave a sleepy sex-drunk mouthing at Phillip’s lips then flopped back like a falling tree onto the bed, curled into a comma and shut his eyes. 

“Okay, buh-bye. Have a nice day at work,” he mumbled and flapped a weak hand in farewell. 

Phillip tottered off the bed onto his feet, zipped himself back up. He sighed, resigning himself to the earful he’d receive when he finally made it to the office. He pulled a blanket off the sofa and covered his sleepy boy. The earful was worth it.


	3. It's About Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened after Gareth disappeared after he and Phillip had a fiddle in the loo. Basically just that. Oh, and Tim Lake from About Time makes an appearance because why not.

 

 

Phillip rubbed his hand over his thigh. It was wet, was his thigh. As was his trouser leg. In fact it was the wetness of the trouser leg that caused the wetness of the thigh. That tends to happen when one soaks a paper towel and dabs at the splatters left behind by what may have been a phantom lover.

He watched the towel fibres gather into little rolls of white on the dark fabric and wondered how much of Gareth was soaked into them. He peeked over his shoulder toward the men’s toilets. Gareth was gone. Just, gone.

Phillip had spent twenty minutes sitting in the cubicle—lifting his long legs up to his chin whenever he heard the outer door swing open—trying to figure out if he'd just experienced an elaborate hallucination.

It was a lot to process. One second he’d had a handful of excitable pale flesh and a faceful of red-gold hair, the next second he was alone in a toilet cubicle with a filthy mess on his tented trousers.

Maybe Gareth _was_ a figment of his imagination. Phillip thought back to the first time he’d spied him sitting by himself in the corner of that bar. He mentally slapped his forehead. Of course Gareth wasn’t real. Who sticks their face into a pint of beer and sneezes the foam all over the place like a cartoon? Certainly not the sort of someone who would later treat Phillip’s mouth like their own personal playpen.

Had he imagined that? His jaw still ached and he recalled worrying that Gareth might unhinge his own jaw and devour his face if he got any more excited. And then he’d glanced down to see his come-streaked trousers. Ah, yes. That was harder to explain away.

Phillip had snuck out of the men’s and on uncertain feet, wobbled and wove around the office. He’d stepped towards people, mouth open as though to tell them _something_ then swiveled on his heel and walked away just as quickly. Who would he tell? And what the hell could he possibly say?

He’d walked unseeing back to his desk and sat, unsure what to do next. Unsure of anything.

Phillip rubbed his hand over his thigh. It was warm now, the damp patch, sandwiched between his leg and his palm. He spent the rest of the afternoon glancing at Gareth's desk and googling everything that might count hallucination as a symptom. And for the sake of thoroughness, he investigated a couple of substances he preemptively swore he'd never take again.

And while it wasn't on his way to anywhere, he managed to walk by Gareth’s desk seventeen times, running his fingertips along the coat draped over the back of the chair.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Gareth fell into complete darkness. A whoomph of air was punched out of his lungs when arse and hands hit cold tile. He stood on wobbly legs and hunched over, resting his hands on his knees. He had other concerns now but his entire body hummed and muscles still spasmed to remind him how he got here.

He was tucking himself back into his pants, zipping up extra carefully, when a door flew open and a sudden light stabbed at his eyes.

A very naked man with Gareth's face and a terrible haircut baulked and took a reflexive step back, his hand still on the light switch the other holding a knotted condom. He looked back over his shoulder and shut the door. He squinty-blinked at a Gareth who squinty-blinked right back.

"What’s going on? When did I grow my hair out? Am I having a crisis?"

That was not the reaction Gareth was expecting.  
Who the fuck are you? Yes.  
Get the hell out of my house. Yes.  
Hair-centric interrogation. Not so much.

"I think you’re mistaking me for someone else." As someone who had mysteriously appeared in a complete stranger’s bathroom, that was not an assurance Gareth thought he’d need to make.

The stranger’s face dimpled in confused amusement. "What's with the accent? And the hair?"

Gareth bristled. "What’s with _my_ hair? Who cuts yours, a blind chimpanzee?”

"Wait a minute.” The stranger ignored him. “I’ve never met myself before. Oh god, have you broken something? Have _I_ broken something? Some sort of rule? Are you dead?" He stopped wide-eyed and whispered "Am I dead?"

“What are you talking about?" Gareth asked slow and quiet, worried the naked man was unstable. “You think I’m you? I’m not you."

The man frowned. "Well, you know.” He drew circles in the air around his face and then Gareth’s. “We both look… kind of…"

Gareth covered his face with his hands. "Oh God,” he said muffled by his palms. “I don't know, I might be. But I'm not _you_ you"

"Right. Right.” The stranger twisted his lips. “I’m a bit confused." He looked down. "And also naked." He grabbed a face towel and held it over himself. "Why don’t we make this simple. Is your name Tim?"

"No."

“Well that was easy. I am. Tim, I mean. Hello."

Gareth peeked out from between his fingers.

"This is the bit where you tell me your name.” Tim prompted with a stage whisper.

Gareth dropped his hands with a sigh. "I’m Gareth."

A woman's muffled voice came from somewhere. Tim cracked the door open and called out that he’d just be a minute. He close the door and turned back to Gareth.

"Listen, I’m going to go back to bed. You go down the stairs turn right and the second on your left is the study. I’ll meet you down there. Might have to wait until my wife’s asleep. Once she's out though…" Tim made an exaggerated dead face. “…not even live oompah band could wake her.”

Tim checked the coast was clear outside and ushered him toward the stairs before heading back to his own room.

Gareth had been pacing about for what felt like an hour. Picking up books, putting them back, sitting down, standing up.

While he waited and poked about, his thoughts drifted to Phillip. He flushed with embarrassment when he remembered his inexperienced and desperate half-devouring of Phillip’s face. He hardly knew the man, though Phillip had started it by fondling about with his trousers.

Gareth flushed all over again as he remembered Phillip’s hand touching him. Soft and big and firm, encircling him until he was hard and wet and… The door creaked open and Tim tiptoed in.

"She fell asleep, finally. Nothing’ll wake her up now." Tim gave him a sweet expectant smile and gestured toward the small sofa.

Several things started slotting into place in Gareth's head. Naked doppelganger, used condom, wife…

"I don't mean to pry.” Gareth winced at his little lie. “Actually, I sort of do, but it might be important.” He chewed on his lip, embarrassed to ask. “Were you and your wife, you know,” he made a face and whispered, “getting down with the sex? A few minutes before you came into the bathroom?"

Tim's face shifted through several shades of red and several shapes of denial. His eyes danced everywhere except to look at Gareth's.

"Not that it's any of your business but, yeah, we were ‘getting down with the sex’, whatever that means."

Gareth flashed back to the spotty red-faced teenaged version of him in a football change room. Both of them screaming in mortification, the other _him_ with his pants around his knees and another boy busy between his legs.

And another flash of a bespectacled teenaged _him_ in a high school girls’ bathroom. Staring at each other guiltily as Gareth hid his flagging erection in a spare toilet roll, and the student tucked his shirt in while a girl scrambled out the door straightening her tunic.

"I think I figured out why I turn up where I turn up when I turn up."

Tim crinkled his nose. "Is it something to do with the ‘getting down with the sex’? Seriously, you need to find a better way of putting that.”

“Maybe. I think so. I think we might have,” Gareth mimed an explosion in his lap and made a small pssch noise, “at the same time.”

“Okay.” Tim nodded. It was a skeptical nod. An indulgent nod. “That’s certainly something. You’ve no control over it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I can travel in time, within my own life that is. And if I want to go back to a particular time, I go into a dark cupboard and squeeze my eyes shut and think really hard about where I want to go. Then poof, that's where I find myself. Have you tried? To control it I mean?"

"It's all a bit new to be honest." Gareth’s leg started jiggling without his say-so.

"So how do you get back?"

"The first time I walked around for a while before I realised I wasn’t anywhere I recognised. I slept in a park and woke up back in the place I disappeared. The second time only took about ten minutes. I haven't had much chance to experiment really."

Tim thought about this, worrying his lips into a twisty pout that Gareth subconsciously mirrored. "I wonder if you could get back sooner. You know, the way you came." Tim laughed, "came." He giggled at Gareth. "You know, because that's how you…"

"Yeah. I get it, thanks.” Gareth sighed. “It was hard enough…" Tim broke out in the smirk at ‘hard enough’ until Gareth held up an admonishing finger at him and shook his head. "…finding someone that led to me getting here. I don't see me ever getting a chance to go back the same way in less than a day or two. I mean look at me."

Tim shrugged.

Gareth gestured himself.

Tim shrugged again.

Gareth rolled his eyes. "I’m just… too tall, too skinny, too… "

"Orange." Tim finished for him. "Yeah, been there."

They both sat in self-reflective silence for a moment.

"Unless of course it’s with the other you." Tim laughed. "It’d be like wanking really. Wouldn’t it? Technically?"

Gareth processed this for a moment. "I don't think so. I mean, even identical twins aren’t identical. It’d be more like," Gareth shook his head looking for a comparison, "like wanking your brother off."

They sat in awkward silence again. Gareth biting his lip and Tim scratching his knuckles.

"I don't have any brothers." Tim piped up.

Gareth mouthed and acknowledging ‘oh’. They fell back into silence.

"Would it be alright if I stayed the night?" Asked Gareth at the exact moment that Tim said, "I’ve never touched another man in that way."

Two pairs of bright ginger eyebrows shot up. Gareth’s in surprise, Tim’s in slight mortification.

Tim’s mouth flapped a few times before he stuttered, "I mean, I've never really thought about it. I have, but it’s never really," he flapped his hand, "done anything for me, you know?"

"Erm…" Gareth hesitated.

"I am thinking about it now, obviously, we're talking about it and now that we’re talking about it it’s incredibly difficult not to think about touching your penis."

Gareth gave a small choked cough but Tim soldiered on without pause, propelled by his gesturing hands. "And since I’m thinking about your penis, so many questions. Is it exactly like mine? Is it bigger? Longer? I don't know, and I'm happy to admit I’m curious but as far as touching it…"

Gareth wondered how Tim hadn't run out of breath yet.

"…in a strictly clinical and experimental sense I think perhaps, maybe, with gloves on, I’d like to think I’d help you out. See if that would be your path home in a strictly non-sexual but obviously sort of sexual…"

Gareth’s eyes strayed to the fancy clock on the wall wishing he’d checked to see how long ago Tim’s stream of consciousness had begun.

"…but the fact of the matter is, it's just not something that, having given it much thought, is something that I might enjoy or desire."

Gareth raised an eyebrow wondering if perhaps that was it.

It wasn't.

"Don't get me wrong, you’re an attractive man." Tim stopped, frowned, processed what he'd just said then carried on. "Not that I’ve ever thought of myself as attractive, the opposite really..."

Gareth buried his face in his hands again, Tim was unperturbed.

"…but now that I look at you as you and not me it's a different kettle of potatoes and really you are, _we_ are quite striking, or at least our hair is."

"Jesus." Gareth mumbled into his hands. He waited. Was he done? Maybe he was…

"It’s not as if I don't wank, right? I do. And that just comes back to if I were to give you a hand, so to speak, it‘d be just like wanking or at least I could pretend. Not that I wouldn't want to wank you off. I would, I mean look at you, us. Fuck it, we’re fine specimens of British…”

"Irish." Gareth muttered.

"…manhood and it would be my privilege, no, my pleasure because you know what, I think I will enjoy it, why wouldn't I? It’d be a new experience and what's not to like about new…"

There was silence.

Gareth raised his head and opened his eyes to see black darkness… and then for a flash of a second there was nothing solid beneath Gareth until there was, as the floor of the office toilets greeted his arse with a painful bang.

A brief burst of relieved tears and a stern talking to in the mirror later and Gareth was skulking down the corridor to the office area. He stayed close to the walls, muscles tensed to dive behind pot plants or freeze in an attempt to impersonate a statue. He was on the look out for any Phillip-shaped movements.

And there he was. Phillip was at his desk, his head bowed. Gareth crouched low and used desks and partitions as a shield. Poking his head up like a meerkat every so often to get his bearings. If he could make it to his bag and his keys he could sneak off home and from there get the next avaialbe flight to Patagonia so he would never ever have to explain himself to or look Phillip in the eye again.

“Averill! What the holy fuck are you doing?” Maloney’s voice rang out across the quiet space. Every head snapped up to look, and as Gareth stood slowly, they all turned toward him. Including a frowning Phillip.

“Just...” Gareth gestured toward his desk and continued on his way, his eyes down.

Out of the corner of his eye Gareth could see Phillip hadn’t moved. Gareth sighed. Maybe he should just talk to him. He looked over and met Phillip’s eyes. Dammit. Gareth’s breath caught and he dropped down into his chair. He saw the movement as Phillip stood up and wove around the desks toward him. Gareth lowered his head and flopped his hair around his face, as though it were a curtain he could hide behind.

“Hey.” Phillip’s quiet voice was accompanied by a butterfly-touch to Gareth’s shoulder blade. “Can we talk somewhere? Somewhere that isn’t here.”

Gareth took a deep breath, then another. For good measure he took a third and turned to face Phillip, squinching his face up at him.

He’d expected to see anger, or confusion—there had to be confusion—in Phillip’s eyes. He was surprised to see only concern and a hint of relief.

Unsure what mischief his voice would get up to, Gareth opted for a nod and a tight-lipped smile. Concern there may be now but he knew what was coming. An angry demand for answers, disbelief that there were none, distrust after that, followed by a solid dose of abandonment. Yes. He’d been here before.

Phillip was still there, eyebrow raised.

“Now?”

“Yes, now,” said Phillip. Without waiting to see if Gareth would follow, he turned and headed toward the stairwell. Gareth stood and jog-walked to catch up.

Phillip was already up a flight by the time Gareth reached the stairs. He followed, taking two steps at a time and watching Phillip climbing up in front of him.

 _It’s a gorgeous arse though isn’t it?_ Said the little angel on Gareth’s shoulder.

 _You better be aiming to grab at that again, boy._ Said the little devil on the other shoulder.

“Shut up,” Gareth hissed. He glanced up. Okay, so it was a nice arse. No point in dwelling now that everything was ruined.

They reached the top of the building. Phillip held the door open for Gareth and propped it open with a breeze block.

The grey sky was mottled dark and light, and a chilled wind gusted in eddies around them.

“Can you believe no one comes up here? I’ve never seen any one. Either no one smokes or no one slacks off. I don’t know which. Maybe it’s both.”

Ah, a bit of small talk to ease into the it’s-not-me-it’s-most-definitely-you speech.

Gareth stuck his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders from the cold. He looked down at his shuffling feet. “Why do you come up here then?” He didn’t look up.

“Both, I guess.”

Gareth heard the rustling of plastic and then two big feet came into view to stand toe-to-toe with his own. He raised his eyes to see Phillip, an unlit cigarette in his mouth, frowning at him.

Phillip turned his head and spat the cigarette out where it was caught by the breeze. He raised both hands to cup Gareth’s head. Long fingers threaded through fiery hair and massaged the back of his skull. Two thumbs rubbed over cheekbones and chin, over bottom lips and unruly eyebrows. All the while, Phillip’s eyes flit all over as though looking for damage.

It was getting disconcerting until Gareth broke the silence with, “Um…”

Phillip stopped that sentence from getting any further. He leaned in to press his lips to Gareth’s. Nothing more than a press, soft-soft and warm. He pressed again gentle touches along Gareth’s jaw until he dropped his hands and took a step back. He mirrored Gareth and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“That’s not what I was expecting.” Gareth said.

“I guess today is full of surprises for both of us.”

They continued staring at each other in silence.

“That was sort of your cue to, I don’t know,” Phillip shrugged, “maybe tell me you’re okay? Tell me what the fuck happened today? Tell me I’m not crazy? A little something’d be nice.”

Gareth nodded. He took two things. A deep breath and Phillip’s hand. “Let me start at the beginning.”


	4. An interlude and a little bit of TLC

Seventeen seconds. That’s Phillip’s response time from anywhere in the house. From the moment he hears Gareth’s scream to grabbing the nearest first aid kit (now stashed in several rooms) to finding Gareth. In that order. They’d agreed it best to save time and assume a bandage or two would be required. 

So seventeen seconds after Gareth screamed, Phillip burst into the kitchen, slid across the tiles in his socks with a first aid kit in one hand and his phone in the other yelling, “I’m on it.”

And that is how Gareth found himself seated on the floor grinning like a lovelorn fool trapped inside a cage of solid legs and arms while a plaster was placed as gently as a waft of steam over a cup of tea onto the tiniest of nicks caused by the most vicious of cupboard doors. To ensure the cut’s speedy recovery, Phillip drew Gareth’s finger to his mouth and gave it a healing kiss.

“I’ll kick its ass.”

“It doesn’t have an arse. Or sentience.” Gareth tugged at Phillip’s arms to pull them tighter around him.

“I’ll kick its door in then.”

“I think we can live without exacting revenge on inanimate objects, whether they’re trying to kill me or not. Though I appreciate the sentiment.”

"Hmm," said Phillip and leaned his head back against the cupboard.

"Hmm," replied Gareth and leaned his head back against Phillip's chest.

They sat in silence for a while.

"So," Phillip started, "what next?"

Gareth shrugged. "I thought I'd make some lunch."

"No, in the story. What are you up to?"

"Oh." Gareth twisted around and sat cross-legged in front of Phillip. "Only the aftermath of The Talk on the roof."

"I heard those capital letters." Phillip took Gareth's hands and helped him unfold and fall onto his back.

“I thought that would be it. No one bothered hanging about for an explanation let alone ask for one. Mainly just radio silence and no further interaction whatsoever.”

“Well that’s rude.” Phillip crawled down onto his stomach between Gareth's legs, his fingers playing under the hem of Gareth's t-shirt.

“I know. Not you though. You just wanted to know who the hell that Tim guy was and was I going to see him again. Like I’d planned to in the first place.”

“I was confused.” Phillip pressed his mouth to Gareth's warm belly in an open 'o' and slowly passed his tongue up and down along the fine hair that led to far more interesting places. “Plus you said he looked exactly like you.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So? You’re fuck-off gorgeous, which meant he was too. And you said he wanted to touch you, which guarantees a possessive response from me.” He sucked up the slop of drool he’d left behind and pecked a few kisses down down further down. “Can’t help it Firefly, I want every inch of you to myself.”

“You mean except for all those times we…” Gareth propped himself up on one elbow.

“Oh, yeah, except for those, obviously.”

Gareth ran his fingers through Phillip's dark waves, one hand after the other, revelling in their soft coolness.  
A small smile played on his lips and his chest filled with what felt like the distilled essence of sunshine and tiny birds singing. He realised there was nowhere he’d rather be and no one he’d rather be with. The sky could be raining down with gold, dragons might be flying about, he wouldn’t move for the life of him.

And then Phillip started to sing.

" _If I need it in the morning or the middle of the night._ "

“No.” Gareth’s face contorted in mock horror. “God, no. Please.”

“ _I ain’t too proud 2 proud to beg, no._ ”

“Don’t do this. I beg you.”

“ _If the lovin' is strong and he got it goin' on and._ ” Phillip shimmied back and forth on his elbows.

“I’m embarrassed. I’m embarrassed for you now.” For all his protests Gareth couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at his mouth.

“ _I ain't 2 proud to beg, no._ ” Phillip started humping the kitchen floor to the beat.

Gareth gave up on the protests and instead stuck his thumb between his teeth and blinky-blinked at Phillip.

“Maybe you should use a microphone.”

Phillip gave him a confused look.

Gareth wriggled his pyjamas and pants down off his hips. He pointed with a dainty index finger.

“Microphone.”

Phillip grinned. He gripped Gareth’s cock, ran a finger round the tip. He leaned in and cleared his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See. Sometimes I remember that I'm writing things and then I write them and I post them. Like a grown up.


	5. How To Proceed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in time again, after Gareth and Phillip's little chat on the roof of the office.  
> Gareth sits at home assuming it's all over before it started.  
> Phillip is getting shit-faced.  
> Proceed.

Gareth was in his jim-jams, sniffling into a tepid mug of cocoa, and wondering if Phillip would turn out to be just like everyone else. He imagined Phillip doing his utmost to avoid him at work. And he imagined his own responses to this. 

There was confident Gareth’s response—confronting Phillip head on, demanding they try one more time, and giving Phillip a mind blowing orgasm that had him begging for more.  
Likelihood of happening: 1.5%. Daydream satisfaction level: 8/10. 

There was desperate Gareth’s response—to beg and plead Phillip for another chance, to remind him of his sorry existence, and that he considered Phillip his last and only chance at happiness.  
Likelihood of happening: 27%. Daydream satisfaction level: 4.5/10. 

And then there was Gareth Gareth’s response—actively partake in the avoidance game ensuring Phillip doesn’t so much as catch a glimpse of him for the rest of their working lives.  
Likelihood of happening: 71.5%. Daydream satisfaction level: 1/10. 

It was a little past ten. He was halfway through a comfort watch of the second series of Bottom and suckling his thumb when the knocking started. 

Gareth was a man who, on a 1 to 10 scale of paranoia, was close to an 11. So a knock at the door late at night on a door that rarely got knocked on? That there was most likely a killer clown with a machete. Or it was the police wanting to inform him that a killer clown had murdered his entire family. With a machete. Or, worse still, someone come to ask him if he was happy with his internet provider.

Avoiding the creakiest boards he tiptoed along the dark hallway hoping they’d go away. He really didn't want to die in his pyjamas with a belly full of self-pity ice-cream and red-rimmed eyes.

"Gareth? Gary? Gary Gary G-man, Gar, Grrrr. Guh. Hello? Let me in."

The air rushed from Gareth’s lungs in relief as he flopped over and held onto his knees. It was only Phillip. It was only… Oh lord. It was Phillip. The brief relief at having survived the killer clown attack was brushed aside as more Phillip anxiety can-canned into town. 

Phillip had gone home after their talk on the rooftop, “To think about things,” he’d said. He’d listened while Gareth told him everything. Most importantly had believed him, given he was an eye witness. He’d held Gareth’s slight pale hand in his own, dwarfing it in his elegant paw and rubbing his thumb back and forth. If that was a prelude to a gentle rejection, Gareth was grateful he’d felt wanted, if only for a moment.

“Gaaaarrrryyyy.”

Gareth found he was holding his own hand now, doing the same. His thumb stroking back and forth. A comfort in the dark.

He switched on the light and opened the door as Phillip geared up for another knocking spree, almost overbalancing and knocking on Gareth's face.

"Don't call me that."

"What?" Phillip gaped open mouthed and blinked slowly.

"Gary. Or Gar. Or G-man for that matter."

"Ga? Garet? Reth? Belinda?"

"No." Despite his protests, Gareth’s chest felt like a hive of bees had taken up residence. Every inch of him was thrumming, warmth spread out from his core, a swell of anticipation for something he couldn’t name.

"Sweetie?" Phillip took a wobbly step into the flat and shut the door behind him. "Honey?" He bent at the knees and dropped his forehead onto Gareth's shoulder. "Baby?" He turned his face into Gareth's neck and inhaled. "Cupcake? Cream puff? Coq au vin?"

Gareth closed his eyes, memorising the topography of Phillip against his skin. The jut of his nose, the damp of his lips, the scratchy-soft tickle of his goatee. Phillip, who was here and very much not giving him the _it’s not me, it’s you_ speech. Gareth found the self-control he needed not to bounce on his toes. He grumbled instead and tried to push Phillip off his shoulder. 

"Flame tree?" 

Gareth humphed and turned his head, biting his lip trying not to smile.

"Firefly?" 

Silence. Phillip drew back and breathed beery breath at Gareth’s lips—it was uncalled for. He twirled a small lock of bright hair around his finger and buried his face back into the crook of Gareth’s neck whispering, “Firefly.”

The quietest of meeps fell out of Gareth’s mouth.

"Firefly," Phillip whispered again. His fingers spidered up Gareth's sides. “You like that one.”

It was a fine moment for Gareth’s willpower that he did not tangle arms around Phillip's neck, wrap legs around his waist, and latch mouth onto his face. What he wanted was Phillip to hold him up by his arse with his great big mitts and gallop them off to bed like a right proper knight. Instead he took hold of Phillip’s wrists and peeled his hands away.

"You’re drunk. How’d you know where I lived?"

Phillip rubbed his cheek along Gareth's collarbone. "You smell pretty. Like clouds and... pickles."

"Oh. Well that's nice." He gave him a stiff pat on the head.

"You dropped your wallet," Phillip said, standing upright with a wobble.

"I didn't."

"You did. Alright, maybe I helped it fall when I said goodbye on the roof. A little. Can't remember, point is,” he pulled Gareth's wallet from his back pocket and a dopey grin, “ta daaa!"

“So you stole my wallet, went out drinking and decided to come visit in the middle of the night?”

“First of all the night has just begun. It’s, like, 10 PM. Thirdly, I didn’t steal it I merely encouraged it to fall for reasons of,” he thought a moment, “well, mainly mischief, and b I only had like three shots of Sour Monkey and a beer.”

“And?” Gareth shuffled looking down at his feet wrapping his arms around himself. “You had a think. About things?”

Phillip pouted and swooped down to hug Gareth round his middle. “I did. I thought about a lot of things. Things like I’m an adult, and I’m going to act like one from now on. And I’m not going to run away when shit gets a little too real. Or in this case unreal. Most important, I thought about how pretty you are. Prettyprettypretty.”

Gareth grinned so wide it hurt. "Alright there Don Giovanni.” He slipped his arms under Phillip's and tried to lift. "Let's go.”

“Nah, I don’t wanna.” Phillip slithered out of Gareth's arms and thunked to his knees like a graceless noodle. He wrapped his arms around Gareth's legs and started mumble-singing _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun _onto his leg.__

__“Come on. Water and paracetomol first.” Regretting the loss of that humid hot spot on his thigh, Gareth climbed out of Phillip's embrace._ _

__“First? What’s second?” He followed Gareth to the kitchen on hands and knees._ _

__With a glass of water and pills in his hands, Gareth turned around to find Phillip prowling towards him. He let out a screech and flung the glass sending broken shards and water every where._ _

__“Jesus Mary and Joseph you gave me a heart attack.”_ _

__“Don’t move.” Phillip waddled over on his knees and hugged Gareth’s thighs again, his cheek rested on the soft warm bulge between his legs._ _

__Of the many thoughts running through Gareth’s head, the primary was that you should never stick things in your ear. And if Phillip kept snuffling and shifting his head he was bound to learn the hard way. And that was a pun he made with intent._ _

__“I know, I’m absurd.” Phillip smooshed his face in harder and inhaled. “I’m a joke. A giant pathetic child.”_ _

__Gareth hovered his hand over Phillip’s head before his itching fingers gave in to the urge to run through that dark soft mass. “I don’t think you’re a joke.”_ _

__“You hardly know me.”_ _

__“And yet here you are, on your knees with your mouth about two inches away from my cock.” The hand that had been running through Phillip’s hair slapped over Gareth’s mouth. That wasn’t flirting that was downright.. good lord what would his mam say? Why was he thinking about ma, stop thinking about ma, stop thinking._ _

__“I’m so sorry, I don’t know where that came from…” Gareth stuttered at the same time that Phillip said, “You make an excellent point. These are adorable by the way.” His fingers delved into the waistband of Gareth’s pyjamas and pulled them down._ _

__“I didn’t mean… You don’t have to.”_ _

__But Phillip was preoccupied with Gareth’s white panties, which were exactly that. Panties._ _

__“I can explain.” Gareth tried to pull his pyjama bottoms back up out of Phillip’s firm grip._ _

__“Holy shit. Is that She-Ra? I loved her.”_ _

__“Me too!” Gareth calmed, the spike of panic evaporating with the burning look Phillip gave him. He pulled at the wedgie that had been riding up his arse crack the last ten minutes. “I looked everywhere for big boy pants but I only found her on these. They’re not great for holding in the sausage and the potatoes all at once, but she makes me feels like a badass princess who can take on the world.”_ _

__Phillip blinked up at Gareth, his mouth quirked and his eyes crinkled beneath tilted brows. He ran his finger along the cartoon warrior. “If I do this will she raise her sword?”_ _

__Gareth took a stuttering breath. “That’s a bit forward.”_ _

__“I’m sorry I don’t know what came over me.”_ _

__“I will, if you play your cards right.” Gareth gasped and slapped his hand over his mouth again. Phillip’s shoulders shook as he gripped Gareth’s hips. His thumbs rubbed at soft warm skin, while his fingers dug into the soft globes of Gareth’s arse._ _

__“I’ve never seen someone blush right down to their toes.”_ _

__“That wasn’t… I don’t know…”_ _

__“You’ve got to stop apologizing. You’re like a closeted kink-monger. Let it out. Be free.”_ _

__“I don’t think I should.”_ _

__“What are you afraid of? No one’s gonna strike you down. Look.” Phillip huffed warm breath over She-Ra, his mouth open wide. “My mouth is now one inch plus one pair of panties away from your cock, which,” he rubbed his nose against the slowly growing bulge, “is filling out nicely by the way. What do you want to do to me?”_ _

__“I don’t think I can say.”_ _

__“Sure you can.” Phillip poked his fingers into the growing gap between Gareth’s leg and the elastic of his pants as She-Ra was being stretched to capacity. “What do you want to do to me, or…” He slipped a whole hand in and gave a gentle squeeze. Gareth bit down on his knuckle. “What do you want me to do to you?”_ _

__Gareth whimpered, his lips pressed tight. Sharp breaths whistled from his nose until finally he burst out. “I want you to wrap me in green silk ribbon like a mummy and then unwrap me with your teeth. I want to fuck your mouth so deep I can tell what you had for breakfast. I want you to go to work with my come all over your hair so you can smell me on you all day. I want to ride you so slow it takes hours to come. We’ll have to order take-away and when I answer the door I want your cock to still be inside me. I don’t know the logistics of that—you’ll have to figure it out later, with diagrams. I want to cover every inch of you in HP sauce and lick it off. I want to stick grapes up your arse and see if I can get them out with my tongue…”_ _

__“Jesus,” Phillip whispered, his eyes widened._ _

__“….I want us not to shower for a week and then sniff every bit of each other, every hole and crevice, into our lungs. I want to fuck you against a hotel window so everyone can see. I want you to fuck me in a lift in a high rise. We’ll press every button and see if we can both come before it reaches the ground floor. I want you to fill me up and put a plug in me and I want you to tell me I’m a good boy when I keep it in all day. I want one with a sparkly ball on a chain that hangs out my arse. I’ll be on all fours at your feet and you can play swing ball with it. We could play tug of war too, I’m good at clenching. I want you to sit on my lap so I can brush your hair. I want to cover you in pearls. It’ll have to be my come at first but I’ll save up and then cover you in real pearls. We can wear those fancy plugs with tails on them. We could crawl about purring and I’ll rub my scent all over your belly then you’ll pull the plug out and mount me like a Tom cat. You’ll have to grab my neck in your teeth and fuck me til I yowl… Jeepers!”_ _

__Gareth looked down to see Phillip panting up at him._ _

__“Can I rip these off now?” Phillip grabbed the top of the panties._ _

__“Yes. Well no, don’t rip them, I really like them. But yes, you can. Actually, you know what.” Gareth stepped out of them down himself and flung them over his shoulder. He worried at his lip._ _

__“Fuck me.” Phillip whispered._ _

__“That’s the idea.” Gareth slaps both hands over his mouth. “Jeezus in a Camembert toboggan.”_ _

__Phillip shot up and grabbing Gareth about his slight hips, he hoisted him over his shoulder, a high pitched squeal from Gareth._ _

__"Bedroom?"_ _

__"Don't drop me."_ _

__"Why would I drop you?"_ _

__"You are a bit drunk."_ _

__"Yeah, but I'm mostly sober. So, bedroom?"_ _

__Gareth hesitated, playing with the back of Phillip's shirt._ _

__"Are you blushing back there?"_ _

__Gareth smoothed down the shirt. “No.” He was most definitely blushing._ _

__"I'll wander then I guess. You can do the whole, and now if you look to your left you'll see some late 20th century window coverings complete with their original tangled cords."_ _

__“Hey. Those knots are impossible. And have you tried undoing the cord stop to tease them out? People think plastic doesn’t have sharp edges. Oh, it has sharp edges.”_ _

__“This looks like a bedroom.”_ _

__“Did the bed give it away?”_ _

__Phillip plonked Gareth down onto the edge of the bed and framed him between his arms. He leaned in and caught Gareth’s lower lip between his. “Good thing you’re so pretty, even when you’re being a smartass.”_ _

__Gareth blushed down to his curled toes. “Psssh. You’re just saying that.”_ _

__Phillip walked his hands back and planted his knee onto the mattress as he loomed over Gareth. “Shit, you got me. I am very much not into you.” He burped. “Sorry. That at least I didn’t mean. That was the beer.”_ _

__“Yes, I can smell that.”_ _

__“Sorry.”_ _

__His other leg joined the first and he slid himself up and over Gareth._ _

__“So, this thing you do, wanna do it again?”_ _

__“This thing I do? I told you I can’t control it. It’s not a thing I do, it’s a thing that happens to me. Except…”_ _

__“Except what?” Phillip stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth while he concentrated hard on unbuttoning Gareth’s pyjama top._ _

__“That Tim guy mentioned, in passing really, maybe if I concentrate on something I could control it.” Gareth’s hands played over Phillip’s shirt. “I can’t think how that would work. What would I concentrate on.”_ _

__“Maybe on not going? I mean, concentrate on here, on staying where you are. Although…” Phillip tugged Gareth’s arms out of the top. “Maybe you keep leaving because you don’t really want to be where you are.”_ _

__“That sounds like a cheesy movie line.”_ _

__“Yeah, I just love those movies about dimension-hopping sex. I’ve got the whole collection. They’re classics.”_ _

__A deep rumble bubbled out of Gareth. For a man who could be blown over by the sneeze of a kitten he managed to growl like a man who had swallowed a family of bears._ _

__“Holy shit that’s hot. Do it again.” Phillip placed his hand on Gareth’s chest and pushed him down flat._ _

__“I’m not some performing monkey you can boss about and expect to…”_ _

__Phillip bent all the way down to scrape his teeth along Gareth’s belly, giving him the softest of bites as he caught on skin._ _

__Gareth growled again and met Phillip’s prideful grin with a pointy finger._ _

__“Now that,” said Gareth, “was well earned.”_ _

__“In that case I really want to earn some more.”_ _

__Gareth looked away, his bottom lip jutting in a world championship pout. From the corner of his eye he could see Phillip pouting back. He turned back to him with a magnanimous flick of his wrist and said, “Proceed.”_ _

__And so Phillip proceeded._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've split this chapter in two because, well hell, it's been sitting here growing mould. It needed some air.


	6. Lumos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gareth meets another him and learns more about how to stay right where he wants to be.

“Lumos.”

“Ah, Jesus!” Gareth shielded his eyes from the sudden bright light, his cock still hard and twitching from Phillip's ministrations. A quiet throat clearing had him peeking between his fingers to see he’d landed on a bed. A bed in which there were three people—one of them him. The other two were a different him and the most beautiful woman Gareth had ever seen. And both of them were pointing odd looking sticks at him. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” He dropped his hands to cover himself and scrambled off the bed. “Just point the way out and I’ll be on my way. Please don’t hurt me.” 

“Who are you? Who sent you?” Not-Gareth asked.

“Sent? No. No one sent me. I just sort of… I lost my way? It happens a lot. Not a lot, but you know what I mean.”

“Not really, no,” said Not-Gareth.

“You ‘ave another brother, mon ami?” the beautiful woman asked in a voice that made Gareth want to fall at her feet and compose sonnets.

“Not that I know of.”

“Listen. If I could wait on your sofa or outside. Maybe borrow a towel or something, I’ll be going soon.” Gareth glanced about looking for an escape.

“Bill, ‘e is very pretty, just like you.”

“Look, I have a condition.” Gareth held his palms out hoping for mercy before he remembered he was naked and returned one to its post as willy warden.

“A condition that makes you apparate into people’s bedrooms in the middle of the night?” Not-Gareth-but-Bill asked.

“Not always bedrooms, but yes. Exactly that.” Gareth scrunched his face in a frown. “Wait. What’s apparating?” 

The couple shared a look. Bill raised his wand again. “Stay right where you are. And explain.”

And so Gareth explained.

 

 

“We need tea.” Bill untangled himself for the bedclothes—his very naked self—and padded off to the kitchen.

Fleur caught Gareth watching him as he walked away. “Is yours ze same?” She mimed squeezing something with her hand. “Firm but with a perfect leetle jiggle?”

He gawped at her a moment. “I can’t say I see it in action much myself.”

Fleur slipped from beneath the bedclothes and slunk toward him. “May I see? Please?”

Gareth blushed, certain that it spread right down to his toes.

“Leave him be darling,” Bill called from the kitchen.

“I’m only asking.” She fluttered her lashes at Gareth and gave him a wink.

“I’d really rather not.” Gareth scrunched his nose.

Fleur nodded and stroked down his chest with the back of her fingers. “Suit yourself,” she said, and sauntered out.

“Apparating is a tricky business. You want to be more careful.” Bill carried in the tea and set it down, gesturing toward an armchair.

Gareth nodded. He found it best to listen in situations he didn’t understand and try to determine the best way out, whether that was via words or via a window. Whatever was safest.

“So, where were you trying to get to?”

Could he get away with nodding again? Maybe not. Damn. “Get to?”

“Did you get distracted?”

This was Tim all over again. Gareth winced, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath. Couldn’t these people, these hims, be normal and just scream and panic for once instead of speaking in riddles. “Listen, I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

It took several minutes for Bill to understand that Gareth was not, in fact, a wizard. It took several more minutes for him to stop grinning when Gareth told him how he did get there. What it _actually_ took for him to stop grinning was Fleur bringing in a very old book and giving him an affectionate pinch on the arm. And because she was immensely clever it then took mere seconds for Fleur to determine that Gareth’s “issue” was similar to apparating and could perhaps be controlled in a similar way.

“You must remember the Three Ds.” She perched herself on Bill’s armrest. 

“That sounds rude.”

She opened the book to a marked page and held it out to Gareth. “Destination. Determination. Deliberation.”

“That doesn’t sound as rude,” Gareth said, leaning forward and squinting at the three words written in curling ink on the page.

“First you must know your Destination. Visualize it clearly in your mind and be Determined to get zere. And when you are ready you must be Deliberate but not ‘asty. Your mind wants to wander, so you do. You keep leaving your lover, focus on ‘im and what makes ‘im your ‘ome. Let ‘im be your Destination.”

“That’s what _he_ said I should do.”

“Then ‘e is a clever boy, like my Bill. You should keep ‘im.”

Bill smiled up at Fleur and took her hand, a picture of domestic bliss. A dull pang hit Gareth in his chest. He wanted to go home. He wanted Phillip to look at him like that. He wanted him to stay.

“It was only the second time. I hardly know him, really.” He gave a rueful huff and stared at his knees. “The first time we didn’t even get undressed.”

“A sad loss for zis Tim, no?” Fleur looked him up and down, a wicked smirk on her face. “But lucky for us.”

Before he had a chance to respond the world went black. A rush of wind and howling and in the splittiest split of a second Gareth had landed with a bounce face down onto his bed.

“Thank god.” Phillip rushed over, hands outstretched, not quite touching.

Gareth groaned. He rolled his head and focused one bleary eye on Phillip. That bleary eye travelled the long path down his chest, paused a moment in the middle, then continued down his legs. “Were you waiting here naked this whole time?”

“Where’d you think I was going to go?”

“Home. Away.” Gareth pouted and smooshed his face back into the mattress. He felt it dip to his left. Phillip’s hands really were enormous. Gareth knew this thing to be true because he could feel one of them now, cupping an entire arse cheek and massaging.

“I’m not sure what part of anything I’ve been saying would have led you to that conclusion.”

Gareth shrugged.

Phillip crawled up onto the bed, nudging his way between Gareth’s legs and stretching out on top of him with a wriggle and a sigh. He slid his hands up that long back and down long arms to engulf bony wrists in his grip and bring them up to the headboard.

Beneath him Gareth beamed into his pillow and rolled his hips back. A grunt and a moan and Phillip’s hot breath in his ear whispered, “So are you gonna tell me all about it,” he rocked his hips right back, growing harder as he slipped between Gareth’s cheeks, “or shall we add a new chapter first?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've not a single clue where this is going to be honest. I can't wait to find out.


End file.
